by Heidi Schulz
“But it’s the only one he left me.”
“More’s the pity for you, then,” Bob said. “And I might have forgiven you yet, seeing as how you were so determined to be your own self and not a copy of him. But since you killed the crocodile, I see more of him in you every day.”
“How so? I’m still doing things my own way! I won’t even sack ships!”
“Aye! And that’s the problem! It’s the doing of everything your own way that’s so like him. You won’t take counsel from anyone. Not from me, not from that fool of a bo’sun you have, not even from your friends! You completely disregard the Pirate Code! I mighta simply walked away, but when I heard you were going after the Jolly Roger—my Queen Anne—I couldn’t let you have her. You don’t deserve her any more than your father did. It was no hard choice to sell you to Krueger in exchange for my Queen.”
Jocelyn placed her hands on her hips. “And you trust him to give her to you?”
“That’s my affair!”
She shook her head. “You would have our deaths on your hands?”
“I would have the Queen Anne’s Revenge! What Krueger does with you after is none of my concern!” He narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s taking you so long? Get back to it. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Jocelyn looked inside the cannon again. “There’s something blocking it. Maybe if I use this…” She grabbed the cannon rammer—a long metal rod with a fat piece of wood at the end—from its hook on the wall. Her movements thus far had been careful and slow, but now she whirled, quickly bringing up the rod and smashing it into the side of Bob’s head. He crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold.
From up above her, the girl could still hear Evie’s sobs, artfully loud enough to disguise any sound of struggle from the gun deck. So far, their plan was working. She only hoped the next part didn’t kill them all.
Jocelyn opened a small cask of gunpowder and poured it in the cannon’s powder hole. Long Tom was much larger than her gun on the Hook’s Revenge. The girl could only guess at the amount—too little and the ball wouldn’t fire, too much and it would explode in her face.
Jocelyn loaded the cannonball, listening for Bob to awaken or Krueger to come below and check on them. She looked out the gun port and positioned Long Tom, hoping her aim was true.
With trembling hands, she struck her flint and steel. A volley of sparks flew toward the fuse, but none hit their target. Bob groaned. Jocelyn didn’t have much time. She steadied her hands and tried again. This time a spark landed on the fuse. It flared briefly and went out. Over Evie’s wails, she heard Krueger’s sharp boots clicking on the deck above.
“Bob, what’s taking so long down there?” he called down the hatch.
Dirty Bob groaned a second time, louder.
Jocelyn struck the steel again.
This time the spark caught. The girl wrapped her arms around a timber support and held tight. A hand grabbed her arm from behind. She did not loosen her grip on the timber but turned her head. Bob’s angry face was only inches from hers.
“What do you think you’re—”
The cannon blast ripped through the rest of his question, making her ears ring. Bob let go of her arm and moved to the gun window. He looked out, then turned back to her, a confused frown on his face. “Why the devil did you shoot a ball? What good did you think it would do?” he screamed, though his voice sounded small and tinny through the ringing of her ears.
Krueger started down the stairs, yelling about booby traps. The girl paid no attention. She was watching the cannonball. It arced gracefully through the air, a smudge of black against the blue sky, before it fell, landing harmlessly in the snow on the slope high above them. A little puff of white erupted into the air at the point of impact—then all was still.
Bob continued to shout, but Jocelyn hardly heard him. The ringing in her ears grew to a roar. Still she watched.
Captain Krueger and Dirty Bob could not have said the same. Their eyes were on the girl. Neither was prepared for the great wall of white about to smash into the ship, but Jocelyn saw it coming.
Her shot had been sure and true. Jocelyn’s cannonball had hit the mountain right where its burden of snow lay heaviest. As the avalanche barreled toward the ship, Jocelyn did the only thing left to do. She gripped the post more tightly, squeezed her eyes shut, and braced herself. Rough waves were ahead.
The avalanche hit the Jolly Roger with the force of a hundred waves, tossing it down the steep slope and over a short cliff. Time slowed as the great ship fell from the sky. When the impact didn’t come, Jocelyn wondered if the Jolly Roger had somehow gained the gift of flight.
In case you were wondering, it hadn’t. This was nothing more than a very long fall. Eventually, the ship smacked into the snow at the foot of the bluff, but it did not rest there. It tumbled over and over, like a pair of wrestling badgers, before finally coming to a rest.
Even after the Jolly Roger stopped moving, Jocelyn couldn’t bring herself to let go of the timber post, though now she held it with her arms and legs, hanging on like a sloth in a ginkgo tree. She opened her eyes and looked around. The gun deck, or at least what was left of it, was turned on its side—the floor was now a wall—and mostly filled with snow. If she wanted to find the stairs and hatch to the upper deck, she’d have to dig.
Whether it was the avalanche itself or the impact from the fall, Jocelyn couldn’t tell, but something had punched a great, ragged hole in the ship’s hull, which was now situated more above the girl than in front of her. Dirty Bob and Captain Krueger were nowhere to be seen. It appeared as though they had both been swept through the breach as the ship tumbled about. She did not expect to see either man again.
Jocelyn forced her arms and legs to let go of the post and dropped into the snow. With great difficulty, she climbed the steep slope and out of the wreckage.
Debris marred the pristine whiteness of the ground. Casks, boxes, and barrels, bits of rope and chain, and splintered pieces of the ship itself lay scattered about. The Jolly Roger’s entire rudder had been torn aside and was now stuck upright in a drift, like a grave marker.
“Roger! Evie!” Jocelyn called out. But there was no answer.
She quickly made her way toward the upper deck. A bit of bright yellow fabric lay atop the powder—Evie’s dress. Jocelyn began to scoop away the ice and snow. She uncovered an arm, then a shoulder, and finally Evie’s face. The older girl took a deep shuddering breath and opened her eyes.
“Roger—” she said. “I couldn’t hold on.”
Jocelyn quickly finished digging her out. “Are you hurt?” she asked as she hauled Evie to her feet.
“I don’t think so.” Before she had even finished speaking, Jocelyn was pulling her along.
Together they hurried to the other side of the ship. The center mast had snapped when the ship rolled. Its splintered nub stuck out like a thumb from the decking. To this bit, Roger was still tied, suspended only a few feet above a snowbank. He hung limply in the ropes. Jocelyn couldn’t tell if he…She ran to him, refusing to think of it.
His gag had worked itself loose, but his mouth was slack, unsmiling. Forgetting, she reached for her sword, but her sheath was empty. All she had was the spyglass, mercifully unbroken, in the pouch at her waist. But in this situation it would be useless. “Evie, find me something to cut the ropes with,” she commanded.
“Look in his pockets,” the other girl suggested. “Doesn’t he have a knife?”
Jocelyn frantically began the arduous search, with Evie joining in to help. Given that the boy had a hundred pockets, it was like trying to find a particular grain of sand upon the beach. They unearthed two purple stones, a bit of string, a tin soldier, one of the parrot’s green feathers, a live frog and a dead mouse, a handful of dried leaves, and the I’m sorry note Jocelyn had written to him the night she left school.
Tears stung the girl’s eyes, and she wished she could tell him she was sorry for the quarrel they had just had. After sear
ching three more pockets, and cursing Smee for creating so many, Jocelyn finally found the knife. She sawed through the ropes that held Roger captive, and she and Evie carefully lowered him to the snow.
Evie hovered anxiously nearby while Jocelyn laid her head on Roger’s chest. It rose and fell beneath her. She heard the thump-thump of his heart. He was alive, but other than figuring that out, Jocelyn had no idea what to do for him. So the girl did the first thing that came to her mind. She punched him on the arm.
Roger’s eyes fluttered, then opened. He gaze focused on Jocelyn’s face. “So, we’re shipwrecked, then,” he said. “Like Magellan.”
Jocelyn started to giggle. Her giggles turned to laughs and her laughs turned to guffaws. Roger and Evie both joined her, their relief at surviving pouring out in hysterical laughter. Evie stopped to catch her breath and asked, “What’s so funny about Magellan?” which struck Jocelyn and Roger as so hilarious it took them quite some time to recover.
Eventually, Jocelyn grabbed her aching side, wiped the laugh tears from her eyes, and surveyed the wreckage. “It looks like we may have seen the last of Krueger, though I’m sorry to see the map go with him.” Jocelyn paled. “And Meriwether! Were you able to get him?”
Evie smiled. “You were right. Finishing-school embroidery does make for nimble fingers—perfect for fine stitches and pickpocketing.” She pulled a silver flask from her dress pocket, uncorked it, and tipped it into Jocelyn’s outstretched palm. The bottle must not have been completely empty when Meriwether was placed in it, for he tumbled into the girl’s hand, stood and gave a wobbly bow, then fell over and into a drunken sleep. Jocelyn felt her heart might burst with relief. She kissed the little fairy over and over, grateful to have him with her once more.
Pity for him Meriwether was not conscious and able to enjoy it. Those kisses would have been his fondest dreams come true, but such is life.
After tucking him snugly into her pocket, Jocelyn turned her affection on Evie, gathering her into a tight hug.
“You did even better than I had hoped,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet.” Evie giggled and squirmed away. “Wait until you see what else I took.” She held up a small leather purse and jingled it. “Gold. Here you go, Captain.” She tossed it to Jocelyn. “And speaking of gold…I also got this.” She placed the treasure map in Jocelyn’s hands. “Now let’s go break that code.”
Jocelyn made a choice, then and there. She would send her crew, under Roger’s command, after the gold, but she would stay behind—with Evie. If her mother, her friend, still wished to never leave the Neverland, Jocelyn would remain always with her, reminding her of where she came from so Evie would not become untethered. Perhaps they would grow old instead of growing up, but they would do it together.
Jocelyn smiled, offering Evie one hand and Roger the other. “Yes indeed. We have a painting to find.”
Those who knew him, even casually, before his crocodilian demise were well aware that Captain James Hook was a fastidious man. His boots were always polished, his jacket pressed and brushed, and his hook gleaming, never so much as a spot of blood or gore clinging to it, no matter how busy his day might have been.
That attention to detail extended to his ship, most particularly his private quarters. Therefore, it should come as no surprise to any thinking person—though you may want to brace yourself for this—that while the rest of the Jolly Roger lay in ruin, Hook’s cabin was in fairly good condition. As my mother was fond of saying, a strong habit of tidiness may even prevail over death and destruction.
The ship was broken nearly in two, twisted at the breach like a wrung-out rag, but Hook’s quarters were fairly level. The floor, walls, and ceilings were all in their usual and customary places, even if some of his personal belongings were not. A few cupboards and drawers hung open, their contents scattered about, yet somehow still looking smart.
By unspoken agreement, Roger and Evie hung back, allowing Jocelyn to enter on her own. The portrait of Captain Hook was miraculously undamaged, and still clinging to the wall above his bed, though it was mostly obscured by his slightly disarrayed bed curtains. One visible eye glared at Jocelyn as she picked her way through the detritus littering the floor.
The girl looked away, suddenly nervous. What if the key to breaking the code wasn’t there? Her eye fell upon a small leather-bound book, embossed with a J. H. on the front. Wishing to put off possible disappointment, she picked it up for a closer look. It appeared to be a captain’s log, but when she thumbed its pages, she regretfully found it to be blank. Still, she slipped the book into her pocket. It could come in handy, and keep her from having to tear pages from her own books, should the need for paper arise.
In the doorway, Evie cleared her throat. Jocelyn knew she was stalling. She steeled herself and quickly strode the rest of the way across the cabin. No pomp or ceremony was displayed as she flung the curtain back and pulled the heavy portrait from the wall, not even pausing to examine her father’s likeness. It was with trembling fingers that the girl, none too gingerly, plucked the still-sleeping Meriwether from her jacket pocket and shook him over the back of the painting. A sparkling shower of fairy dust rained down upon the canvas. Jocelyn held her breath, watching.
Nothing happened.
Still holding her breath, she gave the painting another, more vigorous, dusting. Meriwether did not wake, though he jingled a sleepy complaint, to which Jocelyn paid no heed.
The back of the painting remained stubbornly empty.
Black spots began to dance before her eyes, but she moved to the wall where the portrait had hung, flinging the fairy about with wild abandon. He opened one bleary eye at this rough handling, and rang out a few dull curses. Jocelyn hardly noticed. The wall, the bed, and much of the room were coated in fairy dust, but it exposed nothing. Roger stepped to the girl and gently removed Meriwether from her hand.
“I think this poor little fellow has been through enough,” he said.
Jocelyn exhaled and sank to the edge of the bed, heartsick and rather light-headed. “It’s not here!” she cried. “I thought for certain that it would be!”
Roger spoke in a soothing voice, the kind one would use to comfort a child—that is, if one was of that sort of disposition. “I know,” he said. “We’ll simply have to look elsewhere. We’ll find it, Jocelyn.”
Without the treasure, what would the girl do? She would have to give up her principles and start sacking ships, or give up piracy and live wild like the lost boys, depending on the Neverland to provide for her. Since she could not return home, those were her only options.
Jocelyn had just allowed Roger to begin leading her out of the cabin when she noticed Evie kneeling on the floor. The older girl lifted Hook’s portrait and propped it against a dresser. She reached out and touched it, her fingers sliding over the artist’s signature. Jocelyn’s curiosity was piqued. She moved closer to the painting. As clear as the horizon on a sunny day, Jocelyn read the initials signed in the lower corner of the painting: EH.
“Evie—” Jocelyn felt sick with sudden anxiety.
“I painted this.” Evie’s voice was oddly devoid of emotion. “EH stands for Evelina Hopewell.”
“Yes. Well, sort of.” The proof was before their eyes. What else could she say?
“How?” Evie’s voice rose. “What haven’t you told me?”
Jocelyn knelt next to her friend, feeling a bit dizzy. She twisted her hands in her skirt. “I know some things about your future. And I’m sorry I have kept them from you, but I thought it was for a good reason.”
Evie’s voice was quite shrill now. “What reason could that be? Is my future terribly unhappy? Do I become someone appalling? Do I die a horrible death?”
Roger quietly slipped from the room, giving the two girls privacy.
Jocelyn paled but said nothing.
“I…Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“But you see, it doesn’t matter,” Jocelyn said, grasping Ev
ie’s arm. “Because if you stay here, on the Neverland, you will be safe. You’ll never have to face your future. We can have adventures here forever!”
Evie pulled away. “You sound just like Peter Pan.”
The words hit Jocelyn like a physical force, jolting the girl. “I’m nothing like Peter Pan! I want to grow up. I simply want to do it my own way.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, to calm them both. “But I will give that up to stay here with you.”
Roger called to the girls from the deck outside, but neither acknowledged it. Indeed, they hardly heard the boy, so intent were they on their conversation.
“Why would you do that?” Evie frowned and shook her head. “Go home and have the life you want.”
“I can’t!” Jocelyn felt like the ground was shifting beneath her feet, like the bottom was falling out of her world. She trembled from head to foot.
“Jocelyn,” Roger cut in, poking his head through the doorway.
They ignored him.
“Why can’t you?” asked Evie.
“Evie!” Roger insisted.
“Roger, please!” Evie said. “Jocelyn and I need to talk this out. There are things I need to know.”
“You’ll have to learn them later. The ship is moving!”
The girls scrambled to their feet and out onto the deck. Jocelyn looked over the splintered railing. She wasn’t trembling—the Jolly Roger was! It had begun moving again, sliding down the icy slope. The ship was picking up speed, and in the condition it was currently in, it would surely break apart any moment.
“We have to fly!” Jocelyn shouted. The ground beneath them began to blur with the speed of their descent.
Roger pulled Meriwether from his pocket. Once more the poor little man was flung about until fairy dust coated all three children. The Jolly Roger began to shake violently. Roger and Jocelyn lifted into the air, but Evie stayed rooted firmly on the splintered deck.
“Evie, come on!” Jocelyn commanded.
She shook her head. “I don’t know how!”